


Wicked Wonders of the World

by larissabernstein



Category: The Wizard Of Oz (1939), The Wizard of Oz & Related Fandoms, The Wizard of Oz - Arlen/Harburg/Lloyd Webber/Sams
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Bondage, Coming of Age, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Identity Issues, Musicals, Original London Cast, Romance, Smut, Spanking, The Wizard of OHHHs, empowerment through BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22621174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larissabernstein/pseuds/larissabernstein
Summary: She went to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz, but she found more than she had bargained for.Or in the words of my friend Lillian: sometimes you just gotta fuck a travelling magician.(Explicit rating reflects future chapters.)
Relationships: Dorothy Gale/The Wizard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 1





	Wicked Wonders of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Based on ALW's musical version (West End 2011/12) and borrowing elements from the 1939 film, this story focuses on the ambiguous character of the Wizard / Professor Marvel and his relationship with Dorothy. 
> 
> A word of warning: I have marked this story as "underage" to take U.S. sensibilities into account. My Dorothy is 15 years old - which makes her a person capable of informed decisions in my opinion. If a sexually and intellectually mature teenager in a consensual kinky relationship with an older man squicks you out, I recommend you read something else.

**Wicked Wonders of the World**

**1\. The Magical Lantern**

Nobody understood her, and nobody even tried to! Dorothy wiped furiously at her tears, as her feet kicked up the dust of the country lane she hurried along, Toto bundled in her arms. It was infuriating how they all just trampled over her, at best ignoring her, at worst disregarding her opinions and wishes as if they counted for nothing but a child’s mood. If only she were still a child, carefree and yet cared for, but this phase of her life was well in the past; her childhood had been over ever since her mother’s death, and now that she was tall and strong enough, grown-up enough, to be used for work on the farm and earn her keep, she was nevertheless not treated as an equal. But to threaten to take away her dog now, just because that witch of a neighbour could not stand pets! No, this was one insult too much!

It had been a strange day all around, with tension crackling in the air and a forecast thunderstorm not exactly improving her mood and of those around her. Dorothy did not even know where she was headed; just — _out, out, get away from it all_, her inner voice screamed at her, but walking off her rage hardly worked today, because if she was honest with herself, she had to admit: there was nowhere to go, no fairy tale waiting for her in a land over the rainbow; she would be stuck in Kansas for good, feeding chicken and working on the fields, and in a few years she would be expected to marry and carry on with the traditions, slowly turning into the kind of people her aunt and uncle and their neighbours represented now, and all her hopes and dreams would be a distant memory, banished for good.

Beneath the dust shimmering in the hot air, a familiar vehicle came into view on the side of the road, and that was a welcome and comforting sight on such a terrible day; it would not solve her problems, but provide a short escape from her sorrows. The caravan greeted her with its grandiose promise: _The Wonders of the World_ — wonders she would only ever experience second-hand, of course, but at least they served to reassure her that there was an utterly different world out there, and that her dreams were not as unfounded as her folks used to make them out.

Professor Marvel was always a joy to meet, and he never failed to cheer her up and entrance her with the most fantastic stories and magical tricks. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry had warned her repeatedly not to mingle with the wandering carneys who happened to pass through the neighbourhood every now and then, but the professor was surely above those simple showmen. He was a scientist, after all, an educated man, and his elegant elderly appearance was respectable enough to even charm Auntie Em. Be it his old world manners, or the fact that he always managed to let a dainty bouquet of flowers or a small box of chocolates appear for her in his performances, Em never lost a bad word about him or chastised Dorothy for seeking him out during his stays in the community.

If only those stays had been a more frequent occurrence! But the travelling magician with his caravan full of strange artworks and scientific apparatuses and all kinds of other exciting novelties only came through their part of Kansas a few times per year, and then he rarely stayed longer than a week each time. All the more, Dorothy made sure to not miss a single of his performances, and she would not have traded the afternoons of listening to his adventures for anything in the world — and especially not for the mundane entertainment other girls shared in the village in their sparse leisure time, like knitting and baking and chatting the hours away about boys. No, thank you, that was not for her, when she could gaze at photos from faraway places and dangerous creatures instead, and hear stories of the orient, or watch him conduct strange alchemist experiments, and Dorothy always soaked up all the wonderful adventures he spoke of, and kept them in her heart and mind, to sustain her during the time he was away to visit other places, and these memories certainly made the drab daily life on the farm easier, but they also filled her nightly dreams with colourful and exciting pictures and made her crave more.

For a man about the same age as her aunt and uncle, with pronounced laughter lines telling their own story on his face, and more and more greying hair peeking through his strawberry blond curls, he had unusual boyish looks, Dorothy thought, and that was not so much a question of youthful appearance, but more a certain mischievous spark in his eyes, an almost childlike curiosity and lust for life she never saw other adults around her exhibit so freely. It was infectious, this spark, and made her wonder if she would be able to maintain it once she had to enter into the full responsibilities and duties of adult life, or if she, too, would lose it, just like her aunt and uncle obviously had, in the face of daily humdrum farm work. Colours had to look much duller to them, songs had to sound much sadder; and there were no charming laughter lines on their weathered faces, but wrinkles. This perspective scared her terribly, and if this was what life had in store for her, then maybe it was better to seek her fortune elsewhere, maybe as wandering magician herself or as an assistant to one? This was not an idea to be spoken out loud, and definitely not in the presence of her relatives or even the other teenage girls in the village, but her dreams were a safe playground to explore the possibilities. Had Professor Marvel no need for an assistant?

It was truly a stroke of luck that he was now stopping by in her neighbourhood! On a day like today, Dorothy was in serious need of a friendly face. There was a small campfire sending smoke into the air next to the caravan, and then Toto was already jumping down out of her arms and racing towards the man himself, barking excitedly.

“Toto!” He exclaimed and bent to pet the little dog’s head. “Have you come to visit _me_, or did you just smell my meal?”

Dorothy felt how her mood instantly lifted and she could not help a small smile. “Hello, Professor!” She tried to keep the sorrows of the day out of her voice.

“Dorothy!” He straightened to look at her and she was greeted with a sincere smile that filled her heart with warmth. As so often, the man seemed to positively glow, the effect only heightened by the golden pattern of his brocade jacket and waistcoat, an eccentric costume fit for a performer or king, but surely nothing her uncle would ever dare to wear.

“Excuse the smoke and mess,” he pointed at the modest barbecue and the leftovers that were currently devoured by a very enthusiastic Toto, “but I did not expect such lovely visitors. It’s been too long!”

He hesitated for a moment, but then took her arm to guide her to a crate that served as make-shift seat. “Let me see, what can I offer you… Tea from Persia, harvested by the Shah’s wives?”

Dorothy saw his grin but decided to play along. “From another one of your daring adventures? I’d be honoured, Professor!”

He filled two cups with steaming tea from the kettle and sat down on a footstool opposite Dorothy. “I missed you,” he mumbled into his cup, almost shyly, but Dorothy heard it all the same, and then in his louder showman voice he added, “Daring adventures and spectacular sights have I brought back for you to see!”

“Your magical lantern?” Dorothy asked, and she already knew she was in for a wonderful treat; his stories were already highly entertaining, but in combination with the images he could make appear big and vibrant on the screen, it was an experience out of this world. He had explained the apparatus to her before, a modern invention — _mainly magic, slightly science_ — and the magic, Dorothy found, happened first and foremost when his voice described the pictures with unbridled ardour and took the audience on a journey around the world.

He never disappointed, and neither did he this time; soon Dorothy felt herself spirited away into a miraculous world of giant animals and ancient pyramids, cities made of the tallest glass and metal buildings, and landscapes made of glistening ice, all brought to life and close enough to touch thanks to his animated words while he indicated details on the screen with a long wooden pointer, and there were exotic sights of near and far indeed, one terrific image blending into the next — the Eiffel tower! polar bears! a nude portrait!

Nude portrait? Dorothy stared at the screen.

“Ohhh, that’s not right!” He sprang up to cover Dorothy’s eyes with a handkerchief quickly pulled from his pocket, but immediately flinched back, as if her touch had burnt him when she grasped his hands to push them aside gently and get another peek at the image.

“I'm so sorry, that was… this is from my private collection,” he stammered and a beet-red blush began to spread all over his face, neck, and ears, but he made no further move to block her view or make the magical lantern switch to the next image; he seemed rooted to the spot, and again she was amazed how young and boyish the professor could look, especially when he was obviously caught in something naughty.

The _private_ image was indeed a sight to behold. A young woman, nude and posing in a most unorthodox position, or rather, not posing, but posed, obviously staged by a helping hand, because how could one end up in such an elaborate position all by herself, with ropes describing a zig-zag pattern over her bosom, framing her exposed breasts, and her arms bound back to make her back arch into an almost geometrical shape, anchored to corresponding knots of rope around her calves and ankles. Not only her breasts were on full display, but Dorothy could clearly see a dark triangle of curls between her thighs, drawing the gaze of the observer all the more to this place good Christian girls not so much as even talked about, lest touched or exposed.

It should have shocked her, scandalised her, but Dorothy was not naive and could not help staring at the image, drinking in every detail and feeling it touch and move her deeply — and quite bodily so, with a queer longing throbbing low in her belly and her heartbeat pulsing all the way up into her throat —, but what amazed her most was the expression on the woman’s face: there was an odd mix of pride and defiance on it, an admirable self-confidence Dorothy could not even begin to fathom.

“I…,” the professor began next to her, and she turned to look at him, but the words seemed to have become stuck in his throat, and he was only waving his hands in a rather useless but strangely endearing way. She noticed, however, how keenly he was observing her reaction to this faux-pas, how he scrutinised her face for signs of disapproval or disgust, and how his own face showed an increasing amount of amazement, the longer he could not find what he had obviously expected in Dorothy’s gaze.

“She’s beautiful, like this,” she finally said, surprised by her own courage, but at that point it seemed like there was no such thing as a wrong thing to say, in this novel situation that had put her as much out of her depth as it had the man. He gasped at her words, but kept looking at her as if he could discern the truth of her statement in her eyes.

“Did you...” she began, but stopped herself and bit her tongue.

“Did I…?” he parroted back at her, all big eyes and fidgeting hands and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Dorothy coughed and tried again. “Did you… arrange her like this and take the picture?”

His blush deepened ever so strongly, and he finally found the control over his body again and moved to the projector to turn the thing off completely, with trembling hands, to a sound of disappointment Dorothy could not suppress, and she saw how it made him flinch.

“Oh, don’t stop, there’s so much I haven’t seen yet,” Dorothy tried her luck again. But the magical lantern stayed dark.

“It is getting late, and these clouds look rather gruesome; you better see to getting home before the thunderstorm breaks loose.” His voice was back to the caring intonation of an elderly gentleman, assuming the role of a kind teacher or nice uncle, and this was a jarring contrast to his boyish abashment, but he kept his eyes firmly trained on anything but Dorothy, and violently choked the handkerchief he was still holding in his hands.

“I’m not afraid of thunderstorms,” she said now and got up to walk over to the professor who looked like a spooked horse, but with the caravan right behind him, there was no space to dodge her proximity.

“You have promised to show me the unabridged, _truly unabridged_, assembled wonders of the world,” Dorothy continued and she just had to take his hands now into hers to calm his nervous fidgeting and stop him from pulling and tearing his handkerchief into tatters. “And now you decide to censor the wonders for me? How else am I supposed to learn about the miracles of life?”

“You are young,” he whispered, “too young, to see them in their entirety, I’m afraid.”

“I would need another look at her,” and at this he paled, “but I dare say the woman in the picture was not that much older than I am. Why share this with her and not with me?”

Professor Marvel sighed and took another look at the darkening sky. “It’s starting, damn! — Dorothy, you caught me entirely unprepared, and there’s neither magic nor science right now to help me out, but if you, _mirabile dictu_, really want to… explore these wonders, find me again tomorrow. Go home to your aunt now, before your folks get sick with worry, and please stay safe in this storm. I’ll need to find shelter, too. No,” he gave her hands a firm squeeze, “this is serious, I’m not talking my way out of this here. Go take shelter, I need you to be safe, and if you really want to discuss this again, find me when this storm is over.”

It seemed too much like a convenient excuse, but the thunder above emphasised his sincerity, and Dorothy reluctantly had to agree. “Promise?”

He looked at her with astonishment written on his face. “You have not even the slightest clue what an amazing and bold young woman you are, hm? Promise!”

She had no idea what made her do it, but she gave in to the spur of the moment and pressed a chaste hasty kiss to his cheek, sealing the deal in the disguise of a good-bye, and if it landed right on the corner of his mouth and made him shudder with another high-pitched “ohhhh!”, she was really not to blame and it made the whole exchange all the sweeter and infused her with a curious pride — it was her doing, it was she who had this effect on him and made him all flustered. There was finally something to look forward to, she thought, something probably forbidden that had to stay secret, but it was going to be something that belonged all to herself, away from the meddling and patronising ways of the people directing her life. Her aunt really had no need to know, and neither had the nosy farmhands and those nasty boys in the neighbourhood that kept leering and joking and making fun of her.

_A woman_, he had called her. The word echoed in her mind all the way home, and it even drowned out the ever increasing thunder above and the whistling of a storm that picked up speed all too quickly. Young and all, but a _woman_, and not a little girl, and he had taken her seriously enough to make a promise. What other private wonders would he show to her?

If only that storm would be over soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the indecent picture during the slideshow is canon. ALW musical canon. However, and to my greatest sadness, it was not a nude portrait featuring bondage, but just a lady in a swimsuit. Alas, we can fix that in fic. Professor Marvel would be delighted, I am sure.


End file.
